


The World is Ugly, But You're Beautiful to Me

by lydiasheart



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Fluff, Fluffy Ending, LITERALLY, M/M, pls don't read if you're easily triggered, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-09
Updated: 2013-09-09
Packaged: 2017-12-26 02:05:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/960300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lydiasheart/pseuds/lydiasheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis has always helped Harry when he gets like this, holding while he cries and even throwing away his blades. But what happens when Harry is on the edge and Louis isn't there to help?</p><p> </p><p>Or Louis is forced to spend time with Eleanor when Harry's on the verge of a break down but Louis isn't gone as long as Harry thinks he's going to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The World is Ugly, But You're Beautiful to Me

**Author's Note:**

> incase you didn't see it in the tags this has a huge trigger warning for a reason. PLEASE PAY ATTENTION TO WHAT IM FUCKING SAYING /THANK YOU/.  
> I was writing a depression drabble and this happened don't ask me how.  
> (I'm so nervous about posting this bc i hate my writing but i was convinced to okay if you hate it i totally understand)(Also it's unbeta'd so)  
> Oh and title from MCR bc well. MCR

“Since Louis is going to be with Eleanor for the weekend in Manchester, you can stay with me if you’d like. I know how you hate an empty flat.” Liam squeezed Harry’s shoulder comfortingly, smiling at him a bit. The offer was genuine but the thought of being in a house with Zayn and Liam the first few days of a break really wasn't appealing at all. Harry nodded, although his heart dropped at the news as he heard it again. He absolutely despised when Louis had to spend time with her instead of him.

“I’ll be fine Li, thanks though.” Harry muttered, slipping into one of the black Range Rovers outside the restaurant that was to take him home. They’d all been out to dinner together, and now with three days off and nothing to do Harry could already see things going bad. Louis and Harry were supposed to have quality boyfriend time this break, and now he was off to Manchester to see his “girlfriend” and keep up appearances. Those appearances were killing Harry.

The driver dropped him off at the complex and Harry trudged slowly up the stairs, grumbling as he searched on his key ring for the right key. Bless Louis’ soul, he’s made it bright pink so Harry couldn’t get it confused, even shit faced drunk. After opening the door and dragging his duffle bag into their room, he flopped face first onto the bed that still managed to smell like Louis. Pure Louis, the best smell in the world. No matter how many times he tried, Harry could never describe it. It was just everything that made Louis _Louis_. Harry stripped out of his clothes and bundled up in the duvet, turning his phone on shuffle and wishing Louis was there.

Harry didn’t know why or how he got so depressed, it just sort of happened now. He’d get done with a show and after all the adrenaline had died down, he was left nearly empty. It was worse when he had to sleep on his own and couldn’t seek comfort in Louis’ arms, because he never actually slept. He stayed awake, staring at the ceiling and thinking for hours on end about everything wrong with himself. He never could get through a show without fucking something up, and earlier that week he felt like utter shit all the time. Louis constantly reassured him that his mind was playing tricks on him, that he was beautiful and lovely but Harry never saw it.

Harry could feel the tension swelling in his gut, the sadness overwhelming him. And he couldn’t stop it, so he let it consume him for one night. Sometimes he just lost himself in his depression; let the tears streak down his face, sobs wrack his slender frame and presses his own pillow that much closer to his mouth so he won’t worry the neighbours. He was pathetic, really fucking pathetic if he was being honest with himself. He didn’t deserve to be in the band and he felt like everyone was starting to hate him as much as he hated himself. Harry lifted his arm and traced his bundle of wrist tattoos, tears still streaming at the memories that went with them. Harry had stopped self harming, with the help of Louis, about two years ago but the tattoos had held the place of the pain. It was almost identical; the endorphins released during the process, then the stinging and hurt for a few days later, the permanent marks left behind. Not every tattoo had some deep meaning, but a few did.

His hands subconsciously fluttered to his collarbones, tracing the outline of his sparrows. He didn’t have to see them to know their outline, they were his and Louis’ favourites. And Louis would always trace them with his tongue, sucking lovebites in the middle of each one before telling Harry yet again how beautiful he thought he was. Louis always told Harry but no matter what Harry would /never/ see it.

And just like that, the numbness started spreading through Harry, the dull acceptance of never being good enough was sinking in to him. Too quickly Harry was standing up and walking into the bathroom, tears drying on his cheeks because he couldn’t cry anymore. He didn’t have any more tears left, just the heart wrenching sadness inside of him. It was eating him raw, gnawing in his gut, dying to get out. Any way it could. It was around midnight and Harry couldn’t wait until morning to get a new tattoo, and he still had blades hidden away for this exact reason. Harry was “recovered” but once an addict, always an addict and this was proving just that.

Harry scoffed at his reflection, shaking his head. How fucking weak. Nearly two years clean and he was gonna ruin it. Whatever, he needed this. His brain battled with itself as his body did things out of habit, searching for the envelope under the sink, opening it and choosing one of the few silver blades sitting there. He turned it over in his palm, suddenly feeling the /real/ urge to drag it across his skin. He’d have to be careful, no wrists, no thighs. Too obvious for the other boys to see. His hips maybe? They were littered with scars already. He could put of exposing them to Louis until they were healed, no need to let him know just how pathetic Harry was. “I’m tired” “I’m not in the mood.” “I think I’m getting sick.” There were so many possibilities of choices to lie to him with.

And so Harry started running the bath, watching silently as the water filled the tub, just a little too hot so it’d hurt more when he actually did the deed. Always the masochist, especially when he made the decision to finally relapse. Two years, two fucking years and this was happening now. He was so weak, so fucking weak. He couldn’t even stay strong for Louis, his soulmate. But mostly his reason for recovery. All this time, Louis had been there when Harry needed him. When he came close to the edge. But now here he was, a blade in his hands and sobs still softly escaping his lips and where was Louis? With Eleanor, the fucking beard. He was /always/ with Eleanor.

After letting himself down into the water Harry paused for a moment before slicing his hip. “Why not end it all tonight?” His mind was practically screaming at him to slice more than he normally would and then go pop the pills in the cabinet on the lower self on the right side of the sink in the kitchen. It was so tempting right now, oh so fucking tempting. And Harry knew that he wouldn’t have to deal with anything after that. No beards, no fake friends, no fucking paps running around trying to capture every moment of his life. And so Harry began, slicing open the skin on his already scarred hip, tracing some old scars there. The blood seeped out slowly, tinging the water it touched a dark red before it dispersed and it looked as if no damage was made. So he pressed harder, dragging a little further. More blood poured out of the wound and goosebumps raised on his skin. The pleasure was perverse, he knew that. But he couldn’t help it, couldn’t help the satisfaction he got from hurting himself.

Somewhere in the back of his brain he registered the front door being slammed and then Louis’ voice ringing out through the flat, “Harry? I’m home!” And he dimly remembered that he’d left the bathroom door open but in the trance of blood and pain and pleasure he couldn’t find the energy to care quite enough to do anything.

“Harry darling, I’m home.” Louis sounded closer, like perhaps he was standing in the room, looking around for Harry. He’d probably noticed Harry’s duffle on the floor, the mussed covers and was now looking at the open bathroom door. “Haz?” Louis sounded worried. Not only that, he sounded scared. Scared for Harry maybe even /of/ him. And shit if that didn’t scare Harry too. Because Louis never got scared and if he was now, Harry should be too. So he dropped the blade into the water, watched it sink to the bottom just in time to hear Louis gasp in the doorway. “Harry.” Louis’ breath hitched a bit, noting the rust tinted water and broken boy sitting in it. “Baby. Harry come here.”

And so Harry stood, always listening to Louis. The blood was still flowing from his right hip, trailing down his thigh as he took a step out of the tub and onto the bath mat. Harry thought he’d been done crying, but the look of raw love and concern caused more tears to well up in his eyes and rush down his cheeks because he really fucking fucked up and Louis looked so fucking hurt, watching Harry warily and this was the last thing he wanted and he just wanted to curl into a ball alone but he also wanted Louis to hold him tight so he just stood there and waited for Louis to do something.

“Baby boy.” Louis mumbled, moving forward towards Harry and wiping his hair out of his face and peppering his mouth and cheeks and basically anywhere on his face. Harry’s sobs didn’t slow and he stayed still which hurt Louis but he understood. So he grabbed the wash rag and cleaned up the blood, trying not to think too much about it. “Hey, listen to me. Sweetie, look at me.” He held Harry’s chin firmly between his thumb and index finger, looking into those damn emerald eyes that looked so hurt but so trusting at the same time and Louis had no fucking idea how he managed it. “I’m right here. I’m right here and I love you and I’m gonna take care of you.” Louis’ voice is soft but firm, reassuring Harry of everything he’d been doubting in the past few hours. “Let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?” And he holds the wash rag to the cuts, not too hard so it doesn’t hurt Harry but he’s trying to allow the blood to clot before he bandaged it up.

Louis ducked under the counter to find the first aid kit but was met first with the envelope of blades. And that really shook Louis because he thought he got rid of all the blades so this wouldn’t happen again. So that his boy wouldn’t have to suffer any more. But they were staring him in the fucking face right now and he would take care of them later. He opened up some gauze and medical tape and it was really a fucking miracle it was even in the first aid kit still. When Louis came back up Harry was still crying, but the sobs had stopped. So Louis kissed him gently, and locked eyes with him for a moment before unrolling the gauze to wrap around his hips, tearing some tape to keep it in place. When Louis was done dressing Harry’s cuts he took him by the hand and lead him into the bedroom, sat on the bed and tugged Harry down into his lap.

“Hey. Harry.” Louis whispered, running a hand through the younger boy’s hair as he nuzzled into his neck and continued to cry. “Everything’s gonna be okay. Yeah? I’m here now and I’m /so/ sorry I wasn’t earlier.”

“S’not your fault Lou.” Harry uttered his first words of the night, his voice cracked from disuse. Louis didn’t want to point out just how much it actually was his fault to Harry, so he just leaned down a bit and captured his lips in a chaste kiss.

“I love you so much.” And they’ve said that a million times to each other but this time Louis realizes just how much he really /does/ love Harry. Louis can’t be without this boy and he doesn’t want to ever worry about this ever happening again because beautiful people should feel that way and here is the most beautiful and perfect boy in the world with fresh cuts on his his because he didn’t feel like he was enough and because he didn’t think he mattered. And that really fucking makes Louis so fucking sad so he just keeps whispering “IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou” in his ear.

Eventually Louis tugs Harry back onto the bed fully, wrapping himself around him. Because even though Harry’s taller Louis has always been the big spoon and Louis wanted Harry to feel secure and safe. And as Louis was singing softly to Harry the words that would get him through anything, Harry closed his eyes and something inside him healed. As cliche as that fucking sounds, being wrapped up in his favourite person made him realize just how much he has to lose and how precious what he has is. So a small “You’re my world, and I love you,” leaves Harry’s lips and Louis isn’t sure it really happened but he smiles anyways and keeps singing. “These are the eyes and the lies of the taken. These are their hearts but their hearts don’t beat like ours…”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope that wasn't as terrible as I think it is sigh


End file.
